by Jo O'Neil
Chapter Twenty Seven
The Homeward Journey
I was falling; and I will add, not for the first time. But this was different. With every second my momentum was building I was gravitating faster and faster towards the bottom of a brightly lit tunnel.
At first my cloak cocooned me. As my speed increased it hung around my neck making it uncomfortable for me to breathe until it was suddenly no longer there. The disappearance of my honorary angelic gown followed leaving me dressed as I was before my heavenly adventure in my unflattering, short sleeved, stark white hospital gown.
As I entered through the ceiling of the Make Me Perfect hospital’s operating theatre, I was at last able to control my velocity. Without Archangel Azrael to obscure the theatres artwork, I hovered at the gallery level which was unseen from the ground and marvelled at the fine pieces.
As an amateur art collector who relied on specialist expertise coupled with a genuine appreciation for the canvas, I liked to think the acquisition of my own collection had taught me a thing or two about fine art. Casting my critical eye over the four paintings that each occupied one side of the perfectly symmetrical square room, I noted their textures, colours, and vast differences.
There was an English countryside landscape with rolling hills, stone brick walls, copses of trees, and a lone horse with rider galloping over the undulating terrain, with a clear sky overhead. To one side of the countryside scene was a sailboat on a still, bluey-green lake set against a mountainous backdrop, whose dark granite faces were a contrast to the vibrant red sky. On the other side sat a portrait of a distinguished older gentleman dressed in eighteenth century clothes. Lastly, opposite the idyllic English setting was a European city with its brilliant white terraced buildings, all painted from the aspect of the bay which occupied a third of the large canvas.
Before I could make any further observations, my weightless form was wrenched back into my limp, lifeless body which lay in the hands of the medical staff gathered around the operating table.
I could feel the cold resuscitation paddles against my bare skin, as the constant tone from the heart monitor, which I found deafening, suggested I was clinically dead. Still I tried to open my eyes to see for myself, but to no avail as my eyelids were securely taped shut.
Lingering in a place of limbo, I prayed to God.
‘Please let this have a happy ending, Father. I didn’t go through with my mission only to end up dead after all.’
I expected to hear God’s reply. Instead the monitor ceased its signal of death and bleeped to indicate life.
‘Thank you, God,’ said the relieved voice of my surgeon, which I echoed. ‘Let’s get her to the recovery room. Come on, quickly now, but take care to monitor her heartbeat.’
It wasn’t long after this that I was wheeled on a trolley from the operating theatre to the recovery room. Somewhere between me leaving surgery and officially gaining consciousness, I must have blacked out.
The next thing I knew an unfamiliar female voice was calling me back to the awareness of the room. The tape had been removed from my eyelids which fluttered a fraction open, only to involuntary close tightly shut again in a bid to escape the harsh strip lighting.
‘Serena, come on now. Open your eyes,’ the unknown woman’s voice coaxed me in a tone appropriate for an infant, not a successful London solicitor.
I grumbled as I peeked through my eyelids to flash a discerning look in her general direction before I complained, ‘The light is too bright.’ I noticed my voice was different, raspy in fact. I assumed this was from the tube I had seen sticking out from my mouth.
‘How are you feeling?’ the woman in the white nurse’s uniform persisted.
‘Like I’ve swallowed sandpaper in a room full of fumes,’ I replied with annoyance in my voice.
‘OK, let’s get you back to your room where the lighting is more subtle, and I’ll see about getting you a nice cup of tea for your throat,’ she cheerfully sang out.
I didn’t answer.
Several hours passed. I was back in my room where I was thoroughly bored, so I broke several rules by hopping out of bed to retrieve my phone from my black, Stuart Weitzman, exotically embossed, snake leather bag which befittingly looked a little like a doctors medical case. Checking the corridor to ensure I wouldn’t be found out, I sent a text to Molly begging her to sneak in and rescue me. When she didn’t answer I began to worry, but before I could make further enquiries the head of plastic surgeons came to visit me.
‘Ms. Lewis,’ his normal gentle bedside manner had an air of formality about it.
‘Hello, Mr. Devaro. Did my surgery go according to plan?’ I asked a little unfairly, as I knew only too well the complications he’d faced.
His face contorted in a manner which conveyed he was feeling extremely awkward. I couldn’t say I blamed him. After all I was an accomplish lawyer who could make legality threats to sue the hospital for medical incompetence.
‘I’m afraid your surgery was cancelled.’
He looked at me trying to read my reaction. When I didn’t flinch at the news he continued.
‘I’m sorry to report we lost you for a moment.’ Still I didn’t react so he added, ‘We found a defect with your heart which made it too dangerous to continue.’
‘I died because I have a heart defect?’ My voice rose in mock surprise.
‘Yes, but we are very well equipped at Make Me Perfect. We’re prepared for every eventuality, so please be assured we were able to respond immediately,’ he tried to reassure me. ‘I do not profess to be a cardiovascular expert, Ms. Lewi. To this end, I have arranged for you to see an esteemed colleague of mine at St Bartholomew’s. Given the circumstances, I would very much like to transfer you to his care today.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Mr. Devaro.’
‘On the contrary, Ms. Lewis, I think it is imperative.’
‘No,’ I said firmly. Before he could argue further I asked, ‘When can we reschedule my breast reduction, Mr. Devaro?’
His expression changed to one of a man needing an emergency appointment with a Cardiologist, the irony of which I found amusing. Despite his extreme discomfort he managed to find his professional voice and answered, ‘That is dependent on the Cardiologists findings, Ms. Lewis. The nurse will give you the relevant papers when she discharges you.’
‘Will I see the same nurse who presumably overlooked my heart defect when she did the preliminary tests?’ I asked sardonically.
He took a reflex gulp before carefully answering, ‘Nurse Erica James is on duty now. Erica has worked with me for many years’. I’m confident she will discharge you courteously and efficiently. Good day to you, Ms. Lewis,’ he said. Then forcing himself to smile briefly, he turned on his heels before exiting my suite.
By mid afternoon I was discharged. Having failed to reach Molly I hailed a black cab and went straight to Collins, Harper, and Jones, only to find she was absent. Frustratingly, unable to find anyone who knew the reason for her non-attendance, I took refuge in my office to make some telephone calls. As I was about to dial Molly’s aunt, Harry Goodwin entered.
‘Oh, Serena, I’m so sorry to barge in unannounced. In my defense I thought you were out of the office today,’ he said in a fluster.
I ignored his apology and feverishly asked, ‘Do you know where Molly is?’
‘Oh dear me, you haven’t heard.’
‘Heard what, Harry?’ I said with an undertone of desperation.
‘Molly is in hospital, Serena.’
‘WHAT! Why? What happened?’
‘I don’t have the finer details. All the same, there is no need for alarm as I have it on good authority Molly will make a full recovery and is expected to be discharged today or tomorrow.’
‘Poor Molly. Is she in a ward with lots of sick people or a private room?’
I wasn’t necessarily expecting an answer from Harry. He’d already warned me he had limit
ed knowledge. It was more a case of me verbalising what I was thinking.
‘Sorry, Serena, but I don’t have the answer for you.’ He sat down in the chair my client would normally occupy and sincerely asked, ‘Is there anything I can get you, Serena? I know you and Molly are extremely close so this must be a shock.’
I registered his kindness, though he wouldn’t have noticed as thirsty for answers I asked, ‘Do you know, was Molly well enough to telephone the office herself?’
‘That I can answer; no she didn’t. I don’t know whether it was poor health or lack of opportunity that stopped her. You know how awkward it can be to make calls when in hospital. Curiously, since I never saw these two as friends, Hope Harper was with her when she was admitted, so Hope is the one who made the call.’
‘Is Hope here?’
‘No. Apparently there is a Harper family crisis so neither Mr. Harper nor Hope are in the office today. Did you know our esteemed leader Mr. Harper is Hope’s father?’
‘Let’s just say I had my suspicions.’
‘Well that’s more than I did. I must say I was fairly surprised. She’s not exactly driven, is she?’
I smiled as I recalled my experience that Hope Harper should not be underestimated before I asked, ‘Harry, can I arrange to look over the copy of my last will and testament Collins, Harper, and Jones is holding, please?’
I was confident God would have amended my will back to its original status, but I wanted to be certain. Plus, I had the modifications to make, such as the specifications of my coffin.
‘Sure, as long as you appreciate it won’t be any different from the copy I supplied you when we revised your will. When was that; two, three years’ ago?
‘I’m sure you’re right, Harry, and I appreciate the copy I have should marry with the original document. It’s just I have a nagging feeling that won’t be satisfied until I’ve checked the legal proof with my own eyes. Besides, I have a few amendments I wish to make,’ I said as I mentally recalled all of the necessary adjustments.
‘No problem. Send me an email with a convenient date and time and we can go through it,’ he said as he rose to his feet.
‘Thank you. Harry, do you know what hospital Molly is in?’
‘Yes, she’s in St Bartholomew’s,’ he answered before he closed my office door behind him.
I was very near to leaving to visit Molly when Hope stepped into my office.
‘Hi, Serena, I thought I would find you here.’ She looked momentarily awkward as she hesitated on her next words. ‘Do you remember, Serena?’ she spat out, as if the sentence would burn her if she held on to it much longer.
I toyed with the idea of making her wait for my answer, but when I realised she was holding her breath in the anticipation of what I might say, I had second thoughts and quickly replied, ‘Yes, Hope, I remember.’
She sighed with relief as her body visibly responded to the release of tension, before she recovered her composure and sincerely stated, ‘Thank you, Serena, for everything. If it wasn’t for you I would be lying dead in Central Park, murdered by an ogre of all things. And if the ogre had somehow failed to finish me off, then that dwarf friend of the Harts, though I expect she is an ex-friend now the brothers have come to their senses, would have killed me with a bow and arrow.’
‘Elf, not dwarf, and she had a crossbow, not a bow and arrow,’ I corrected.
‘Then that elf would have succeeded where the ogre failed with her lethal crossbow. Goodness knows what would have become of my parents who have thankfully now been released from the custody of MI6. I will never be able to thank you enough, chiefly for instigating the repayment of our karmic debt which has plagued us for eternity. Because of you, all is well, Serena.’
‘Is it?’ I looked at her with wide eyes before I added, ‘You know Hope, now I’m back, I won’t fight you for Rupert because I don’t wish to bring about a new karmic debt. All the same, there is a possibility he will choose me.’
‘I know, Serena. I won’t fight you either. I can’t pretend I haven’t prayed Rupert will stay with me. Ultimately, I respect he has free will to choose for himself.’
‘Then may the best girl win,’ I said with a mischievous smile. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I need to visit Molly. I can’t believe she ended up in hospital. I thought the angels were going to heal her.’
‘They did, a little too well. I think she collapsed from over stimulation from the healing she received. At least that’s what spirit told me. Please send her my love.’
‘Of course I will,’ I said a little amused that Hope and Molly may finally become, if not friends, colleagues with mutual respect.
‘And, Serena, before you go I have something that belongs to you; your sapphire amulet. It served me well. If only I hadn’t taken it off after I showered then that awful, smelly ogre wouldn’t have been able to touch me. But I’m confused; why were the Hart brothers able to, and why was that dwarf, I mean elf, able to shoot at me?’
I took my beautiful pendant from her as I replied, ‘I would hazard a guess that the Hart brothers were never truly evil, as otherwise they wouldn’t have renounced Lucifer. I think that’s why they didn’t burn when they touched you; although I did notice they flinched. As for Odile the elf; she cast a spell which left you vulnerable to her attack.’
‘How did you know about the spell when you threw yourself in front of the arrow to save me?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Then why didn’t you trust your amulet would repeal the elf’s attack?’
‘I don’t know whether to call it instinct or a nudge from the angels. All I do know is in the split second I had to react I knew I had to shield you.’ Before Hope had a chance to ask me anything further or declare her eternal gratitude, I said, ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I really must go to Molly.’
‘Of course,’ she said as she stood up to leave, ‘but don’t think I didn’t hear mention of Ryan being your protector. I was too preoccupied at the time with my MI6 issues to question the circumstances further. Since all has been restored, someday soon, Serena, I want to know Ryan’s story. After all, he knows mine,’ she said determinedly as she closed my office door behind her.
I flagged down another taxi from the prestigious Mayfair address and directed the driver to St Bartholomew’s hospital. When I arrived at the main hospital reception, the middle-aged, painfully skinny head receptionist wouldn’t allow me admittance. Visiting hours were strictly between three and four-thirty and then seven to eight-thirty, and no amount of bribing could sway her. Resigned to return at seven, I inadvertently walked past the cardiovascular department on my way to the hospital store and noted the head of department Mr. Devaro had referred me to, Mr. Guardian. Coincidently, I bumped into Mr. Guardian as I paid for my paper and milk. I marvelled at his relatively young age of early thirties, given his professional status, which led me to wonder if his extreme good looks had helped him up the career ladder.
Tucking my newspaper under my arm, I made my way to the taxi rank. After giving my rotund chauffeur my home address, I fruitlessly attempted to read the content between the thin sheets of the recent news as the chatty driver gave me his opinion on every current political story.
‘And that’s another suspect case,’ the wannabe current affairs advisor informed me. ‘Have you heard about the MI6 chap who was framed?’
Despite the fact I had only half been paying attention to his ranting, I suddenly sat bolt upright and answered him for the first time with more than a little intrigue, ‘What about him?’
‘Framed him, they did. That was until a senior official looked into his case. He’s been given a full pardon. Of course they won’t publish his name, what with the importance of his anonymity. He wouldn’t be much of a secret agent if his name and photograph were shown. I’d imagine his protecting Queen and country days’ would be over if the paparazzi get wind of who he is. It was on the lunch time news. You didn
’t see it?’
‘No.’
‘Been in hospital all day, have you, Love? I guess this having just picked you up from Barts. That’s another thing . . .’
I switched off and searched my newspaper for any mention of MI6. Unsuccessful by the time I got home, I placed my paper and door keys down on to my kitchen table and put my milk in the fridge before entering my bedroom.
I planned to shower and change before going back to St Bartholomew’s to see Molly, so I quickly undressed and stepped into my power shower with my shampoo and conditioner at hand, and my puff ball lathered up with shower gel. As I followed the contours of my body, relived to be washing the clinical smell of the operating theatre from my skin, I screamed in shocked delight as I showered the frontal top portion of my torso. I couldn’t be sure without looking in a mirror. Still, I was almost positive my breasts were the perfect ‘C’ cup I had booked in for surgery to achieve.
I washed the lather from my body so it didn’t obscure my view and hastily raced, dripping small puddles of water as I did so, to my dressing rooms full length mirror. God had promised me perfectly balanced body parts, and that is exactly the image which greeted me.
In ecstasy, I completed my beauty regime. Then dressed in my bathrobe, I hunted through my extensive walk-in-wardrobe for the perfect top to emphasis my new shape. As I searched, a sparkling golden hanger caught my eye. I immediately stopped my task and selected the garment on the unusual hanger which I had neither purchased nor placed among my clothes. As I extended my arm so I could see the item of clothing, I gasped as there before my very eyes hung my beautiful white honorary angelic gown. Speechless, I reached for the letter attached to the hanger which I opened with trembling hands. Clutching my gown to me, I sat down to read the familiar writing:
My Dear Serena
I AM indebted to you for your service. The pride and love I feel for you is incalculable. Take heart that even though Lucifer still resides on the outskirts of good waiting to find a flaw so he can flood happiness with sorrow, one day you will defeat him, for the very scriptures I wrote foretell this to be so. Please know that until that day comes, you will receive My devoted protection. Archangel Michael is never far from you. Nor is your earthly protector, Ryan Joshua Scott.
I feel sure our paths will cross many times before you finally come home to Me.
I have loved you, and I will continue to love you always
All is well My Angelic 444
Your loving, Father x x x x
P.S You would do well not to allow Rupert or Ryan to see you in your honorary angelic gown; at least not until you are sure with whom your destiny resides
Tears of joy flooded my eyes. Still clutching my angelic gown tight to me, I waltzed around my apartment. When I finally stood still, dizzy with happiness, I habitually checked my mobile telephone that I had omitted to change from silent after my hospital visit. I had two texts.
The first was from Molly.
‘Please come and visit me this evening at Barts – I’m soooo bored! Don’t forget to bring your car keys and transfer papers. And don’t try and wriggle out of it as I have a very reliable witness, namely God :0) Love you x x x x’
The second was from Ryan.
‘Thank you, Serena. Without you I would still be on the run. God has explained I’m still required for duty as your protector now you are back in your earthly body. It seems sensible we meet to discuss strategy. Are you free for dinner now you can legitimately eat again? I am yours to command. Ryan x’
I sat still with my gown held to me. God had promised me a balanced body, and He had delivered that promise. He had also agreed I could have my pick of eligible men. The problem was, did I still want Rupert Maximus Valentine or would Ryan Joshua Scott be a better match? I definitely had an attraction to Ryan, but was that adrenaline induced after all the adventure we had been through together? This quandary made it impossible for me to decipher whether my magnetism to Ryan was greater than the one I felt for Rupert.
God had told me, “More often than not it is so that the soul has already chosen its mate, so for you to return to life and choose your soul mate is an injustice to your soul. It would be far more advantageous to allow the soul to seek its chosen one.”
As I reflected on God’s wise words and my current circumstances, I couldn’t help but feel very un-honorary angelic like as I grew excited at the pending competition Hope and I were to resume for Rupert’s favour. I had promised not to fight Hope, but I hadn’t agreed not to use carefully thought out strategies to steal Rupert back.
As I doodled on the writing pad I always kept by my house telephone my potential double barrel name:
Serena Olivia Unity Lewis-Valentine
Serena Olivia Unity Lewis-Scott
I wondered who would be my soul’s choice of mate. And then I reasoned that was a decision I would leave for another day after I had secured the fate of mankind by defeating the evil Lucifer.
Epilogue